


It Was Not Meant To Be Unkind

by roxymissrose



Series: This Small Dark Place [6]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-05 11:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16366607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: Mistress found Jensen to be vexing. Undecided whether that was a good thing, or bad.Jensen is eighteen.





	1. Chapter 1

One of the nighttime roomGirls rapped lightly at Jensen's cubby doorway, startling him into dropping the book he was reading. It was past hours; Jared was sound asleep, had been asleep for some time—what could it be? 

"Lucky," the girl whispered, "Mistress wants you in her office immediately." She stifled a small yawn—judging by the crispness of her uniform, she must have just come onto her shift. She crossed her arms, fought down another yawn. "C'mon, Lucky, no time to waste."

"Oh, yes, coming—" Jen jumped up and rummaged through his clothes cabinet, quickly changing from night shirt to fresh uniform. He scooped a little cold water from the wash bowl in the corner and rubbed sleepiness from his face as best he could. In seconds he was presentable enough, considering how late the hour was, and ran to catch up with the roomGirl, their footsteps muffled by their night shoes. 

To be called to attend after hours always made him nervous, and as he followed the roomGirl—Maddy, he thought—he was running the day's events through in his mind, wondering where he'd gone wrong, how he'd offended. 

Maddy tapped at the office door and ushered Jensen inside. Before dropping his eyes, he caught sight of the Mistress behind her writing desk, several notebooks spread across the top. Some on that pile belonged to Jensen; he froze when he saw the dark blue cover topped with the gold line. He wished the floor would rise up and swallow him... _what had he done wrong?_

 

Mistress pointed at a chair set in front of her sofa. "Sit."

She rose from her desk, the silk skirts of her gown flirting around her calves as she moved. She took a few moments to adjust the tone of her audiocon. The familiar sign-on, _"This is the private station of subscriber Patricia Padalecki"_ whispered into the air, before a beautiful string arrangement became a subtle backdrop to what was to come—whatever that might be. Jensen sat quietly, stiffly; barely breathing so as not to move or do anything to accidentally annoy the mistress.

"Lift your head, Jensen—and breathe, for all the gods' sake." Mistress settled delicately on her sofa, lit a slim black cigarette, pulling delicately on the gold filter as she considered her property. "Jensen...I'm told your school work is excellent. Jared's instructors have no complaint with you."

Jensen blushed. In a thrall's life, _No complaint_ was the equivalent of high praise. So far, so good. 

"You're well liked, Jensen, by all the staff at Cyprus Wood Academy. You're well liked by the staff here, as well. You are in fact," she crushed out her cigarette in the little cloisonne ashtray, "rather the _pet_ on the estate."

Jensen froze in horror. Had he overstepped in some way—he'd never _tried_ to make people like him. In fact, he tried to remain unnoticed...had Jared complained? Was he about to be punished? 

"Relax, Jensen," she murmured. "It's not your fault you're a...you're rather a treasure, aren't you? I've never had cause, in all these years, to regret choosing you as a companion for the young master. You've been a friend and a guide to him. You've helped to...aim Jared in the direction that I wish him to grow. He's a dear, sweet child, but he can be impetuous, and…" She stood, moved to her audiocon again, and lingered over adjusting the dials, giving Jensen a little breathing space. 

"Well. He has, unfortunately, inherited a bit of his father's temper. He has a good heart but...you've seen it," Mistress Patricia said. "Without guidance, Jared could be a colder person. A harsh person. He loves you, Jensen, and you seem to love him, and for that I'm grateful."

Jensen sat like a stone until finally Mistress turned back to him, a sardonic lift of her eyebrow giving way to puzzlement, and then an irritated kind of understanding. "You may speak, Jensen, whenever we are alone, you are to speak freely."

"Yes, Mistress," Jen replied, so quietly that she had to lean forward to hear him. She may have given him permission to speak, but Jen was not a fool. He concentrated harder, trying to figure out what it was she wanted to hear. She walked around Jen's chair, came to a stop facing him, and slapped him lightly. Not painful, but certainly startling. 

"I know what you're doing and stop it. Don't vomit up pointless nonsense that you _think_ I want to hear. Observe the time." She pointed to her desk, at the gold and glass confection of a clock perched on it and said, "It's past twelve, past the witching hour," she said and graced Jen with a small, thin smile. "No one here but you and me. I have given you permission to speak—no. No, what I mean to say is... _please..._ Jensen, speak to me as you would to Jared—" She held her hand up. "No, as you would to masterCook."

Jensen, for the first time in fourteen years, stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at a master. Speechless, like he hadn't been since toddler-hood, since his fourth year, when he'd gotten a few switches to the soles of his feet for responding, 'What?' when Master Patrick had given him an order. 

"I—I—I ask your pardon, please, Mistress! I…." He was trapped; he had no protocol to deal with falling into a situation like this. 

"I expect you'll have plenty of time to get used to this." She actually laughed, and turning to a sideboard, poured Jensen a small glass of wine. "'Cook sent this up today...not as sweet as I was afraid. Take this." She pushed the glass towards him. "You'll have to know wines, eventually. Also foods, fabrics...when you are masterHouseboy, Jensen, you'll have to know a great many things, and also, make sure that your staff is very knowledgeable as well. It's not just what you are capable of, it's who you surround yourself with and how capable they are. Never make the mistake of thinking that you are a party of one." 

Jensen nodded vigorously and sipped at the wine. It was good. Fruity but not heavily so, more crisp, and with a touch of sweetness. He wondered if it came from the estate. The thin cracker topped with a creamy cheese that she also gave him was good; the cheese had a slightly nutty, slightly sweet taste, offset by the pepper-dusted cracker. 

"Good?"

"Oh yes, it's a very nice Malbec; a nice bite of spice. Master Patrick generally prefered Manchiaggo with it and so did I, but this cheese has nice texture and a good fla-fla…."

He stuttered to a stop as Mistress peered at him over the rim of her glass. She put it down, gently but firmly. "Jensen. We will talk again. About everything Master Stewart taught you. It seems you are more knowledgeable than I assumed. You are...eighteen, am I right?"

Jensen nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

"You know, I was thinking about letting you train with Jim a few years from now, but I think you should be working with him sooner. Mark is excellent at the day-to-day affairs, but you…" She took up her glass again, twirling her glass and watching the way the electric candles made the liquid in the glass glow ruby, burgundy, blood, as it swirled. "At your young age, you already understand what makes an estate great. You are exactly what Jared needs in his future." She drained her glass and set it down, lit another thin, black cigarette. 

"So, let us speak of education. Jared will be going to university in just a few years." 

Jensen nodded and when she asked him what he thought of that, he hesitated before speaking, and actually considered what he thought about that information, personally. Instead of saying what he thought she wanted, he spoke the truth. "It scares me. I don't know where I'll be. I know you have said I'm to apprentice to Jim—I mean masterHouseboy, but I'm afraid that if Jared stops caring for me, I'll be open to others taking advantage. Not that you'd let that happen, Mistress...I mean, as long as you knew about it."

Mistress Patricia looked fierce. "Not on this estate. I won't stand for it. There are places—" She stopped and took a deep breath. "Would you like to go with Jared, to university?"

Jensen realized that he probably was gaping like a guppy again, and shook himself. "But...yes...but...how? Where?" He froze. "As his body thrall, you mean?"

"Gods no, Jensen. What is wrong with you? Do you _want_ to be a body thrall? What is this fascination with sex, for all the gods' sake?"

Jensen shivered—his face going red, then white with fear. He'd overstepped. Of course. For once in his foolish life the chance to speak up falls in his lap, and what does he do? He ruins it—

"You really are quite vexing, Jensen. Quite vexing. And I apologize. Of course that is your main fear. I was unthinking enough not to consider that. You. Need. Never. Fear. Understand? You are _my_ thrall, only my _Geld_ and wish can free you, only my word can damn you. Fortunately for you, I have decided that you are a treasure. Now, you will certainly attend university with Jared, yes. And that's not possible in Columbia, no. But...Albion, Francia, possibly Espania; all these are good possibilities. I would sugggest Acadia to Jared, but you'd never be allowed that. The other countries look down on us for our thralls, but they do obey our laws—Acadia refuses to do us the honor of obeying our laws, so...." 

She shrugged, a quick flash of annoyance darkening her features. "The options I've mentioned do come with some problems, such as language. That is a barrier to be considered. Jared has been taking classes, but you have…" 

She eyed Jensen, and he wished fervently that right this moment, his worthless molecules would disperse into the air. "Have been listening in and taking your own classes, am I right? Of course I am." 

She flipped her hand at him, like she was sweeping away an annoying insect. "Vexing, Jensen. Now, off to bed. We'll speak another day."

* * * 

Jared threw himself down on the bed next to Jensen, kicking off his boots and tossing his jacket—followed by his tie—into the air. Jensen watched it flutter to a landing on one of Jared's bookcases, took note of where his boots landed.

"Jen, Jen," Jared poked his arm. 

"Yes, Jared, I'm right here. I hear you _and_ feel you just fine, thanks."

Jared giggled for a moment, his dimples adding that spark to his smile that Jen loved. "No, really, Jen, I have something to tell you—a secret." His voice dropped down to a whisper not much quieter than his speaking voice. "We're going to the capitol—the Great Capitol!"

Jensen felt a quick, barely there flash of envy, squashed automatically and ruthlessly. "That's wonderful, Jared. When will you be leaving? Do you know what you want me to pack for you? What about school, shall I do your notes, or…." 

He stopped. Jared was looking at him in an odd way. His master shook his head and said, "Jen, _We_ are going to the capitol. You and Mother and me. I. You know what I mean!"

Jensen stared at Jared, shook his head carefully. "No, not really."

"Jensen! Don't be thick! We are all going—in a private airship—you as well, Jen. We're going to have a weekend holiday together. Mother thinks it will be good for us, plus this is a trial run for when you travel with me to wherever I go to university. You know, quite a few thralls travel with their masters. You'll like it. I'll like it. And Mother thinks you're positively a good influence on me. You're to keep me on the straight and narrow when we go—"

Jared prattled on and on, and Jensen went into automatic-pilot, answering when he needed to, lifting an eyebrow when called for, or giggling along with Jared when that was called for...and all the while he marveled, light-headed and euphoric at the thought. _Travel,_ real travel, not trussed neck to neck with other thralls in a truck, not locked into a travel-box, something he had only the vaguest memories of from toddler-hood, he and his siblings (he was pretty sure that it had been his siblings) crowded in tight together, crouched on splintery wood. As far as Jensen was concerned, he'd just been gifted with a miracle. He thanked the goddess for his luck.

* * * 

Mistress officially informed Jensen at their next night-time tête-à-tête. She had an appointment in the capitol. He'd managed to glean from kitchen gossip that it was a very important meeting with very important people, but no more than that. Jensen honestly wasn't interested in the reason for the trip, what mattered was that she'd assured Jensen that he would be traveling with her and her son to Columbia's great Capital of Philadelphia, in the state of Pennsylvania.

Philadelphia! 

_Pennsylvania!_

Since the moment Mistress confirmed it, Jensen was besides himself with excitement; he had no memory of any place outside of the Stewart estate until he'd become part of the Padalecki estate. Columbia, he knew, was a beautiful country-- last year, he and Jared had attended weekly showings of the series, 'Columbia, from Sea to Shining Sea' at the Lawrence Cinema, and it had been an amazing experience. The thought of seeing some of this great land he lived in thrilled him. But the most exciting aspect of it all, the most magical part of all—he'd _finally_ be able to ride an airship. 

Jen shivered. An airship! To take to the skies, soar through them high and free, just like the Mighty Dirigible Captain—an excited laugh broke free at the secret thought, and Jensen blushed in embarrassment; here he was in public, losing control so openly he felt like a toddler. It was just...the Dirigible Captain. Mark, the assistant 'Houseboy was full of those stories. Jensen loved hearing him recount the exciting tales, loved how his voice deepened, dipped and rose and fell in the rhythm of those stories, exciting and funny and heroic....

As though Jensen thinking about him called him up, Mark came strolling along the kitchen-garden path—where Jensen was currently absolutely not hiding in the arms of the shrubbery, just to take a breath or two for himself—a crate of estate-brewed ale balanced on his shoulder. The sun struck highlights on his bristly blond hair, along the scruff that outlined his jaw. His very blue eyes fixed on Jensen as he came to a stop, his slow, sardonic curl of a smile brightening a bit. Jen could see spots and stains on Mark's shirt, his pants...he wanted to shake his head. Mark's lack of regard for his position must vex the mistress quite a bit—how Mark could get away with it was testament to her patience and the kindness she showed her thralls. 

"Well, well, what the fuck do we have here?" Mark set the crate down and rubbed at his neck. "Whew, that there is a heavy bitch. I swan, my shoulders are about to break clean off. As I was saying, what have we here, Lucky? Why this lounging in the shrubs?" 

_I'm hiding from my master for a blessed moment of peace._ he thought, but out loud of course, he said, holding up his notebook, "I'm marking out pathways and mocking up recommendations for possible changes. For efficiency. That's...that's what my paper is…is..." He dropped his head and blushed deeper. "I...I...Mistress said…." 

His voice faded. He was afraid to meet assistant masterHouseboy's eyes. He was startled by a loud, deep, very pleased laugh.

"Oh, Lucky, don't think you're taking something from me! I'm rooting for you to pass all the courses with flying colors. When you take this position, I'm free. Or as free as a slave can be."

Jensen tipped his head. "Sl-ave? Is that Anglo? What does it mean?"

"Ah, you poor little shit," Mark murmured and dropped to his knees. He took Jensen's free hand. "Slave is...it's a _forbidden_ word. An old, old word, which means, well, what we are. Most of us. Listen, Lucky, you know there are things that masters mustn't know?"

Jen nodded. Of course, everyone knew what not to share: Master Foolish stories. The Dirigible Captain. Loki's tales. Taking the way to Shining Sea….

 _"Slave_ is a thing like that. For a sla—a thrall to be really free, and not in the sense of being dead, they must know their history—" he stopped, huffed impatiently. "Well, anyway, when you are doing this gods-forsaken job, I will be attached to masterHusbandman, and I will be damn glad of it. The whole outdoors, all the air and sun you could want, and no one looking over your shoulder all the fuck of the day. That's where I belong. And you, you are pretty and smart and deceptively willowy-looking. Because underneath, I’ve seen, you're fuckin' hard as nails," Mark laughed. 

"I am not!" Jensen was absolutely offended by what Mark said. He was not hard—he was as close to a gentleman as a thrall was allowed. He was...Master Patrick had referred to him as delicate, delectable. 

He raised his hands, turning them this way and that. He had no callouses, no scars. His hands were nearly as smooth as Jared's. He was not hard. 

Mark leaped to his feet, still chuckling as he tapped Jen's cheek. "You'll understand one day. Thank the gods and all their vassals you don't know what I mean. One of the blessings of my life in this place," he said, his ever-present smirk gone, "has been that you don't know, praises on the Four Gods." 

A second or two went by before Mark shook his head, and the odd, rather somber mood that had struck him was gone like smoke—winking at Jen, he shouldered the crate again and took off for the kitchen's cold room, whistling as he went. 

Jensen stared after him, chewing the cap of his pen as he watched the assistant 'houseboy walk away. 

The thing about being a young, unassuming thrall was that people tended to forget he was in the room. They freely dropped little nuggets of gossip, and spit boast-talk. And what he'd overheard, sitting quietly on his stool near the kitchen hearth, made him certain that Mark was a member of the Dirigible Captain's service. 

Unless Jensen was directly commanded to speak, he'd never mention his suspicions to anyone, not Mistress Patricia, not Master Jared. Even if ordered...well, he’d like to think he would not speak, even if the masters demanded it. The thought made him shiver, his stomach turn unpleasantly. For some reason, he had a faint flash of memory—his brother, whom he'd not really thought of for years. Odd. Odder still, instead of feeling any kind of nostalgia or melancholy over a person he barely recalled, he felt anger—quick as a knife slash and as sharp, before it disappeared. 

He picked up his notebook, rifling the pages, holding it close until all he felt was gratitude that, despite there surely being candidates more suitable, Mistress chose him. 

Jensen shook his head and smiled, picked up his pen and began to trace new pathways from garden gate to service entrances.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen starts to realize what little voice he has.

Though Jared swore by Four Gods that Jensen absolutely was an important part of their big adventure, and Mistress Padalecki had affirmed it was so, it wasn't until packing his own bag and following the mistress, Jared, and masterHouseMaid to their cab that he truly believed he was going to fly on an airship. He could barely breathe as the footman did his final inspection of the cab; Jim subtly shook his head when Jensen made to sit on the seat over the luggage pod. He whispered,"Mistress prefers the thralls to ride in the cabin. Behave yourself."

Jensen wanted to frown—why did the man persist in treating Jensen like a thrall fresh out of training? But he kept his tongue and only muttered,"Yes, sir," before turning towards the cab.

"Wait," Jim said, and slipped a few bills into Jensen's hand."I know boys like to buy their sweets and such. When you get to your lodgings, ask about places where you can shop by yourself." He smiled, looking remarkably avuncular. It startled Jensen; he’d had no idea Jim’s repertoire contained expressions other than disappointed, angry, or _’Lord, boy, you’re too stupid to live’._ He stammered a thank you, and Mark, standing behind Jim, winked and gave Jen a double thumbs-up.

He shuddered with the feeling of something intruding in his space. Turning slightly, he found masterHouseMaid staring at him while adjusting the Estate pin on her cape. She gave Jensen one of her rare, frosty smiles. "masterHouseMaid."

"So, seems we'll be traveling together, boy. Well, don't worry, I won't let you make a fool of yourself or embarrass Mistress into having to send you to the poles." 

Jensen felt a sudden, violent, need to upchuck."The – the – the –"

"Don't be silly, Jensen, do calm down. There'll be no need of that." 

"No, not at all, masterHouseMaid! I'll be on my best, masterHouseMaid, I promise, masterHouseMaid!"

"Yes, that is what I said," she replied, eyeing Jensen as if she'd misjudged him, and maybe he was as stupid as she'd suspected. 

"Uhm...masterHouseMaid, when do we—"

"Tell you what, Jensen, what say for the remainder of this trip, I give you leave to call me by my name: Amanda." 

Jensen was a little wary of her offer, but,"Thank you, Miss A – Amanda," he stuttered, and blushed. It seemed entirely too familiar, but if 'HouseMaid was willing….

"Alright, boy. Jensen. Let's hurry before we anger Mistress Padalecki." 

She bustled him towards the cab, barely letting him give a quick good-bye to Mark and Jim—at the same moment, Jared poked his head out of the cab window, waving frantically."C'mon, Jen! Wait until you see the train station, oh, but you’re going to love it!"

* * * 

The train slowed to a stop, steel wheels screaming against the metal tracks, the sound echoing under the giant glass and iron awning of the station. Jensen blinked in surprise; he'd never heard such noise before, and the way the sound _echoed_ and re-echoed as trains moved in and out along the tracks...he struggled not to cover his ears, while his much younger master sat across from him, looking a little bored and sleepy. Jensen felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment—FourGods, he was as bad as a smallhold thrall.

When the call came to disembark, Jared linked arms with Jen, dragging him out of the car and down to the platform. Mistress and masterHouseMaid came behind them, much more sedately. Mistress and her 'HouseMaid exchanged a look, 'HouseMaid covering a smile behind her gloved hand."Oh dear," she whispered and Mistress chuckled. 

Mistress Padalecki waved down a porter to take their luggage, then herded the boys off the platform and into the station proper. Jared raced up the stairs, towing a Jensen who struggled to maintain a proper dignity and still keep up with his young, very enthusiastic, master. Mistress hurried behind them, calling out,"Jared, Jensen, do pick a spot and _calm down."_

Jensen wondered how Mistress could possibly expect that—the station was an overwhelming cavern of a place: giant columns holding up a glass and mahogany ceiling, the huge rooms filled with people, and the _noise._ The shriek of metal against metal, the hiss of escaping steam funneling up the stairway from the tracks, and so many voices, shouting, chattering, laughing….

So many different sounds and smells and sights, and for a boy from a sedate country estate, it was like being flung into a hurricane. 

It was also the most incredibly fascinating, _exciting_ place Jensen had ever been in in his whole life. 

A warbling little tune behind him made him whirl around—he covered his mouth as Jared leaped out of the way of the rotapede that whizzed a half-circle past them, the driver giving them a cheeky blast of her horn. Jared whipped around and stuck his tongue out at Jensen.

"I know you're laughing at me!" he called out, and took a menacing step toward Jensen, eyes sparkling with mischief."You're in such trouble now!"

A station attendant appeared suddenly behind Jared. Made straight for Jensen, and before Jen could move, he’d snatched him by the arm in a painful grip, yanking him away from Jared. Turning to Mistress Padalecki, he asked,"Would you like me to take this to the holding area, ma'am? Until we get back underway—so's it won't be a worry to you?" He totally ignored Amanda, who took a step out of his way, but Jen could see fury reflected in the stiff way she held herself, face blank, but pale. 

"Hey! Let go of him!" Jared yelled."Mother, he's trying to take Jensen!"

"Stop, you." Mistress held her hand up to the attendant, her cheeks bright red, her lips tight."That _boy_ travels with my son. Take your hands off. Immediately."

"Of course, of course—apologies, young master." He set his hand between Jensen's shoulder blades and gave him a little shove, sending Jen stumbling back to Jared's side. Giving Jared an indulgent smile, he said,"Didn't mean to manhandle what was yours." Everything about him, from expression to tone of voice, said, _'your pet.'_

Mistress stepped in, flinging back her travel cape so that she could slam both hands to her hips. All trace of cool disdain was gone—she was now every bit as furious as masterHouseMaid."He is _mine._ He is an _Estate Trainee—_ as you should have seen from his uniform. You will treat him as such from this point on, or I will hear about it." She stared the attendant down, who paled and dipped his head quickly. 

"Many, many apologies, Mistress, and...and to you as well, thrall." He gave a short, sketchy, sort of head-bob to Jensen, who immediately dropped his chin to his chest."I didn't know, and I should have, Mistress."

Mistress thawed slightly."No, I should have put my estate mark on him. He still attends school with my son, and it just slipped my mind. Thank you for pointing out the necessity."

The attendant stood taller and blushed slightly, unused to being treated in anything close to a respectful manner by someone so obviously worlds above him on the social ladder."Can—may I call a cab for you, Mistress? You're headed to the aerostrip, if I might be so bold?"

"That would be lovely," she replied."Jared and my boy's luggage can be brought aboard as well. There will only be a steamer and a pullman; I have sent my own ahead. Come, masterHouseMaid," she said and gave the attendant a chilly look. He blushed deeper, and again dipped his head; Amanda walked silently past him, head high—she was under the mistress's protection and the attendant couldn't touch her. Jensen raised his own head a fraction; peeking through lowered lashes, he watched her nearly strut by—it made him feel like a victory had been won.

* * * 

The attendant left them to wait under an awning close to the carriage stop. It was chilly outside—the narrow road between the separate wings of the station funneled a brisk wind through the buildings. Amanda settled the mistress's cape around her. Their heads were close, their voices too soft to be heard—not that Jensen would actively try to overhear their conversations. 

Shivering a bit with the chill, Jared wiggled closer to Jensen; ended up leaning on him, using his back as a support. Jared was whistling along to some new song captured on his personal audiocon, a treat mistress had brought with her from a recent conference in Nihon. Jensen took advantage of the break to make a few notes in his journal—he penciled in a reminder to check railway lines and the cost of transporting goods by rail instead of overland by cart.

A few minutes later, the cab came rolling up in the carriage lane, its bird-like whistle chirping to warn pedestrians out of its way. It was an electric car, a smallish thing, about the size of the estate's horse-drawn carriages. It was silent and clean—just the thing for travel, Mistress said. It came to a stop in front of them and Mistress shooed them aboard with an indulgent hand-wave when Jensen hesitated at the wide, outside seat fastened over the luggage pod. 

Excited to be on the way to the aerostrip at last, Jen and Jared both poked their heads out of the window like toddlers and yelled descriptions to each other as though they weren't both looking at the same things, despite Mistress's constant admonishment. Jensen, but not Jared, noted the occasional pointed look directed at them, but it wasn't that terribly unusual for a thrall to be granted permission to ride in the cab—as long as a master had their eye on their property. Jensen wished he could take his uniform jacket off...promptly stuffed the ridiculous thought down deep as he could.

* * * 

The cab took them speedily from the station to the city. Soon they were buzzing down a wide, straight roadway cutting through grasslands, pylons rising tall out of the undergrowth, and here and there were great, sprawling factories. The factories thinned out, and they began passing farms, eventually distances between the farms grew wide...finally, they passed a small aeroport. It was different from aerostrips in that only small, gas-powered biplanes used them, Jared explained. 

Jen and Jared both watched the biplanes buzz in and out of the air with fascination. There weren't many of them; they were relegated to few jobs—mail, private couriers, sometimes hospital transports in the case of an emergency. The rumors were that in the Sultanates, the masters flew their own richly appointed aeroplanes--huge, single-winged things the size of two or three omnibuses strapped together, or so Jared claimed. Jensen nodded, and kept his skepticism to himself, of course. How such a thing, constructed of metal and depending on liquids, could fly was beyond his imagination.

 

Soon they arrived at the larger aerostrip; the cab sped through a vast patchwork of concrete and bright green lawns, dotted here and there with mooring towers, descent towers twinned to them. Jensen nearly drooled on the window glass, he was so entranced. He lost all sight of Mistress and ‘HouseMaid and Jared, lost all concept of self—completely mesmerized by the sight of those giant airships sailing in to port. He imagined the Dirigible Captain’s airship, mooring in its secret lair high in Skadi’s Mountains, must look like these.

 

Their cab drove them right into the hanger where their ship waited. They boarded, and were directed to a flight of stairs—Mistress took the lead as they climbed to their deck. Jensen could barely remember to keep his place, overwhelmed by being in this fabled thing, this magnificent creation. When they stepped off the stairs at the second deck, Jensen was nearly vibrating, and though this was something Jared had done before many times, he seemed to be absorbing Jensen's joy at finally, _finally_ being able to fly. They linked hands—Jen squeezing Jared’s slightly in excitement. Jared’s smile was framed with deep dimples, his bright eyes locked on Jensen, watching as Jen peered about, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, desperately trying to commit it all to memory.

There were cabins on this second level, small, door-less rooms. Jen peeked in, hard not to with no privacy allotted to these cabins. They were sparse but clean, bunk beds against one wall. A young thrall in a plain gray uniform was sitting on the lower bed, hands folded and face set in that blank look Jensen knew well. On the upper bunk he could make out a lump under the covers before they hurried past. Jensen shifted his bag...was this were he was going to stay? He hoped not; there were no observation windows on this deck, nothing but this series of door-less cabins. He'd hate to finally be where he’d wanted to be after all these years, only to end up denied of all its wonders. 

At Mistress's urging, they kept moving, Jensen sticking by Jared’s side since no one ordered him not to. In the next cabin they passed, an older woman was paging through a notebook; penciling in notes, Jensen thought. Her uniform marked her as a HouseMaid, though not a masterHouseMaid, more than likely she was an assistant, taking the tour with the family who owned her service, leaving the masterHouseMaid to oversee whatever estate theyd come from. She nodded as Amanda passed, then dropped her head respectfully for the mistress. 

Mistress herded them towards the last flight of stairs that would take them to the third, top deck. Jared nudged Jensen to move faster and he sighed with relief. He would be staying with Jared, and that meant all the wonders an airship held would be his to share. 

Jensen's heart positively swelled with joy, so much that he imagined himself like Jared's favorite cartoon character, that Oswald Rabbit--his smitten heart puffing out his vest. Jen stifled a giggle and straightening his jacket, proudly trotted up the stairs behind his master.

 _What a good life I have,_ he thought, and then a clear picture of the thrall boy with the empty, blank look on his face, filled his mind. Jensen took a deep breath. His life was very good and he was grateful for it.

* * * 

Jared made a dash to the cabins that Mistress had booked: a cabin for herself and her 'Housemaid and a cabin for the boys. Jared threw his bag on the bottom bunk, and directed Jen to the top one."You'll love it—I think it's more adventurous sleeping in the top than the bottom. But I've had the chance many times, and for your first trip, well, it just seems right, y'know…"

Jensen threw his arms around Jared."Thank you, Jared, thank you!"

Jared turned a deep red and patted Jen on the back."Of course, of course." Jensen stepped back, beaming at his master...it was odd, he thought. For so many years he'd rested his cheek atop Jared's little head, and now, they were eye to eye...Jared grabbed him into another hug, and planted a kiss against Jen's laughing mouth."I'd do anything to make you smile, Jen, you know I would," he said, and smiled wider when Jensen agreed. 

"You know that all I want out of life is to make you happy, Master."

"Um-hm—oh, I think I hear the dinner bell, Jen—quick, let's wash up before Mother calls us!"

* * * 

They met in the dining room, and Jensen found out that there were only three other groups of travelers this particular journey; a colleague of Mistress's traveling with her family, another family not quite as high on the social ladder as the Padalecki's, and a businessman and his wife. Jensen wondered why they traveled without thralls, but later that evening, over a late night snack, Miss Amanda told him their thralls were in the thrall holds below. Jensen was horrified at first, thinking that they were all in little wooden boxes, but Miss Amanda rolled her eyes. 

"You’re thinking of little cages, aren’t you? The open cabins we passed below were the thrall holds, you silly boy. Not as nice as these, of course, but comfortable and clean. I myself have never had experience of one. I have always traveled with Mistress, and shared a cabin with her,” she said proudly. 

She took a sip of her tea, seeming to think, and then leaned closer, as if she were going to put a cube of sugar in his cup."There are ships that that is not so. Very not so, where the thralls are locked in cages more suitable for dogs." She shook her head."But these are not those kind of people. Mistress likes me close, since she works at all hours of the day," she said, looking fondly irritated."And everyone knows better than to separate you from your little master," she said, and laughed softly. "We had no idea that it would be so, but here we are. You, young Lucky, are aptly named."

Jensen flushed—somehow it had never occurred to him that Miss Amanda might have heard Mark's silly nickname for him. She smiled at his embarrassment, and slid the plate of cookies closer. 

"Go on, eat up. Young master will be calling you soon—"

Before she could finish, Jensen heard the beat of boots against the floor, and Jared calling his name. He stood, sighing, casting a longing glance at the cookies. Amanda swiftly wrapped them in a napkin and shoved them into Jensen's hand."Go," she chuckled,"before he shouts the ship down."

He grinned back and whirled around, dashing out of the thralls' corner and into the corridor. 

"Oh, there you are, Jen. I've been looking for you all over for you—come join me in the observation lounge! They're opening the windows!"

They scurried to the observation deck—the large windows affording them a splendid view as they approached the nation's capital. Jared pointed the statue of William Penn, Pennsylvania’s founder, out to Jensen."They're not supposed to build higher than his hat, but you can see they have," he said."I like the idea of creating these amazing buildings, all that glass and stone and iron...I think it'd be a wonderful profession," he nearly whispered the last part.

Jensen nodded. He could see Master doing that. It appealed to all his strong points. He should talk to him about speaking with his mother. Maybe he could drop a word to the Mistress for Jared. Jared might rather study architecture instead of just running the estate. He and Jared could make quite a team, Jen thought. With the estate under his hand, Jared would be free to explore any career he cared to, just like Mistress Padalecki left the day-to-day affairs of the estate to Jim and Amanda.

The airship took a deep turn, and Jensen ran to the end of the lounge to catch the view from another angle. 

"Jensen," Mistress Padalecki scolded softly, and Jensen froze. He'd been behaving like a baby—again—not an eighteen year old man. He blushed and stepped back from the window. Jared came up to him, sneaking his hand into Jensen's. He tugged Jensen gently forward, their steps slow and careful. When they reached the glass, Jared leaned against Jensen, resting his head against his shoulder before pulling back—his gaze intense on Jensen; Jared's eyes were deep, and warm, full of concern. _'It's okay,'_ he mouthed carefully and Jen squeezed his hand lightly. _'Thank you,'_ he mouthed back. 

He watched the city slowly come into view, the grid of roadways, rooftops and the rolling carpet of green parks under them, watched as it rolled away under them and past as the airship headed for port.

* * * 

Once in the capital city, Jensen saw just how different his life could have been, if not for a lucky turn of fate. Boys and girls his age, wearing not much more than tunics and shorts, filled the streets. They were pack animals, carrying all manner of items, from groceries to paving blocks, in great baskets strapped to their bodies; he saw a boy carrying a stack of dining chairs strapped to his back. 

He saw so many little ones as well, working just as hard as the older boys and girls—cleaning streets, running errands, delivering mail. As their cab rolled slowly past, Jensen saw a man tap a boy Jared’s age carrying a few nets holding dozens of stoppered earthenware jugs. Saw his face go blank—saw him carefully set the jugs down and back into an ally, the man stalking forward as the boy backed away. Jensen closed his eyes and shook his head, a tiny, barely there movement. This was what his mistress had saved him from—this was what the luck of being sold onto an estate saved him from. He glanced at Jared, who seemed not to have seen it at all. 

They arrived at their hotel, and there they split—Jensen and Amanda going around to the back of the hotel as the Padaleckis went toward the front entrance. 

At the rear of the hotel was a set of worn, wooden steps leading to a small door, its paint peeling and faded. A sign screwed into the wall next to it read, _"for service personnel"._ Inside, it smelled vaguely of bleach and floor polish. The hallway was worn, the furnishings old, but clean, obviously cast-offs. 

"If you’d follow me, please." An older, dark-skinned man with close-cut, gray hair and a bright smile, led them into a parlor, and pointed out a hallway."Rooms are that way. You're…" he peered at a note card," Padalecki Amanda? And Padalecki Jensen? Right. Room six. Dinner is at five—breakfast served from six to seven-thirty, AM, and there are snacks as well, at eight and eleven o'clock, day and evening." He smiled at Jensen."That should make you happy, I daresay. I'm Hugo. I'm the masterHouseboy for the Cloister Hotel, one of Philadelphia's finest establishments."

He waved towards an arched doorway that opened onto a small dining room."The Cloister is a good hotel. We have always provided rooms and made dining available for those in service. You'll be safe and looked after while you are with us."

Amanda smiled and thanked Hugo; taking a few notes from her purse, she passed them over. He left them with a smile and a small dip of the head.

Jen watched him walk away and turned to Amanda."Why did you pay him, miss?"

Amanda laughed. "Did you think we stayed here for free? Mistress contracted for rooms for us. But do you want to eat? Do you want sheets on your bed, or pillows? The Mistress is a good woman, but she’s concerned with the over-all picture—she does not understand the minutiae. If you were pulled off the street and raped without being obviously damaged, what do you think would happen? Don't think that the way you're treated when you walk with Mistress means anything. On your own, you're a thrall like any other. Indentured or service for life, there is no difference. And soon, if we fail, there will be no indentured either. All of us will be service for life, if some in our society have their way--" 

Amanda stopped, eyes widening—she clapped a hand over her mouth."Damn it, Lucky,” she muttered. “You bring out the worst in me. Get yourself to the lounge and wait to be called."

Jensen wandered in what he hoped was the direction of the service lounge. Finding it by pure chance, he took a seat and waited for...he wasn't sure what, until a switchboard off to his left buzzed to life, and the young operator there called out for "Padalecki Jensen? Please go to suite 227—follow the signs.”

He nodded and leaped to his feet, following directions to the service stairs. He trotted up three flights to the Padalecki suite, and Jared, who was thrilled to see him. 

"Dinnertime for both of us in a few minutes, Jensen," he whispered. "I gave Amanda some of my treat money to pay for your dinner, so ask her for the menu that you can choose from—get whatever you want! I wish we could eat together, but at least this way I know you're eating well. Oh, and Mother says to remind you if there are any poor freemen in the dining room, you mustn't look or try to talk to them or their table mates." He spoke in a way that sounded like he’d memorized his mother’s orders, then dropped his voice even lower. "Cause it's rude, and a possible punishment, so…"

Jensen nodded. He realized that all his life, he'd thought he was bright, well-educated and wise to the ins-and-outs of his thrall life. But now, here, in the city of Brotherly love, in Columbia's great capital, he was finding that he knew nothing; was nothing but a rube—was learning that he really was lucky, because compared to most, he had no worth at all.


	3. It Was Not Meant To Be Unkind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Jensen's long childhood. Master Patrick was good to him. Mistress Padalecki was good to him. It was not meant to be unkind….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story takes a darker tone at this point. If you prefer to be warned, please read the notes at the end.

The next evening, Mistress invited the boys to her suite for tea. Jared, of course, had asked for a pot of cocoa instead of tea—Jensen cast a pointed look at the little pot, and the over-flowing cup of whipped-cream set in a bowl of ice. Jared stuck his tongue out at Jensen, then gave Jensen a dimple-framed grin. "You don't know what you're missing," he laughed, and dropped a dollop of cream into his cup. "How can you not like chocolate? What kind of a Padalecki are you?"

Jensen giggled, and Miss Amanda shushed him, but she was smiling too. 

Mistress poured for Jensen and Amanda—something she did often when she and Jensen met privately. Jensen blushed to have her do so in front of Miss Amanda and her son—as far as he knew, Jared had no idea that his mother sometimes called for Jen late at night. Jared watched his mother pour and then pass a tiny dish of sugar cubes around. He looked surprised...and pleased, smiling at Jensen like Jensen had done something clever. 

Jensen enjoyed his tea and sweet cakes while Mistress spoke a bit about the seemingly endless series of meetings and brunches and dinners she'd had, with companions she complained to Jared were very tedious people, in no way as interesting as Jared and Jensen. 

"One more dinner with stodgy old men and their simpering companions and I'll positively explode. I think...as a treat to ourselves, we will attend a play—no, it can not be a movie, Jared—"

Jared's eyes went wide; he looked scandalized—and amused. He gave Jensen a side-ways look. _Behave_ Jensen mouthed, and hid his own smile behind his teacup.

"Yes, dear child, I know what you children call the cinema these days. We will save the cinema for another night, and then it will be your turn to choose what we see. As for my choice—"

* * * 

The play they attended, Mistress' choice, was _Our Town_ —the review Jensen had read in the papers Mistress passed on to him described it as quite an advent-garde production. He wasn't sure what that meant, but it put him in mind of Master Patrick, and for a split second, he missed his former master, and those naive childhood days on the old master's estate.

The play proved to be fascinating, even Jared was spellbound by the production, or so he claimed when he sneaked a few minutes with Jensen during the intermission. He and Mistress were seated comfortably—and of course apart from Jensen and Miss Amanda—in the VIP section; Jensen and Amanda sat in the thrall boxes high above the stage, which Jensen loved. He could see every aspect of the play, including the fascinating work behind the scenes, from where they sat. He thought it added to the magic of the play, though all of that was completely lost on Miss Amanda, who struggled mightily not to fall asleep. Her only comment on the play was, "For allgods sake, Lucky...what the hells is everyone pantomiming about?"

* * * 

Jensen was still under the spell of the performance as they stood curbside, waiting for their cab. The world was full of truly amazing things, he thought. Airships and rotopeds and creating magic from metal and glass and now _this_ \--the ability to make oneself over completely—to become another being, all in the course of a few hours—to make _magic!_

Mistress was speaking quietly to Amanda about something, when Jared loudly demanded his mother's attention, bringing Jensen back to earth. 

"Mother, Mother, please,"Jared begged, "Can't Jensen and I go on ahead—on foot? I'm absolutely dying for an ice cream cone and there were some vendors a few blocks from our hotel and if we buy ice there Jensen won't have to wait until I'm done and we won't have to search for a place where thralls are allowed to buy a treat and I promise to buy only one—"

"Jared, do be quiet and take a breath—several. If it will buy your momentary silence, than yes, you may. masterHouseMaid and I will meet you at the hotel."

"Thanks, Mother," he yelled and raced up the street, "I'll beat your there, Jen!" he cried. Jensen felt a shiver of misgiving. He wasn't sure about running after Jared on a public street...what if someone thought he'd stolen something? And there was being on his own without the safety of wearing a uniform....

The vivid memory of the young boy being pushed into the dark between buildings by a freeman chilled him. What if….

Jensen jumped when his shoulder was seized in a firm grip; he was pulled away from the direction his master took. His mouth went dry in sudden fear. He took a risk, and raised his head, went weak in the knees—thank TheFour, it was Mistress Padalecki behind him.

"When you get back to the hotel, go to Jared's room and help him pack. It seems that we must cut our trip short, sadly. Explain to Jared, and have coffee or tea sent up for him...no, make it a hot chocolate. You get one as well. I've already alerted the hotel from the theater's Phon. 'HouseMaid and I are making a quick stop, and then we'll meet you at the hotel. Behave—make sure your little master behaves as well."

Amanda waited until Mistress started to climb into the cab before hooking a finger in Jen's shirt collar and pulling him close. She pinned her Estate medallion on his shoulder. "There. I'm with Mistress and in uniform, but you're alone on the street with only another boy, master or not...this should afford you protection." She scowled. "She should not have let Jared talk her out of you wearing your uniform...there. All right then, Lucky, don't forget you have money in your pocket, and don't let Jared overeat or buy too much." She winked at him. "Make sure your little master behaves."

"No, Miss Amanda, thank you, Miss Amanda. I'll make sure that he will." 

They shared a smile over Jen's small joke, then Jensen took a few steps after Jared, who'd gotten a good head-start. Out of nowhere, a hot wind knocked him sideways, seconds later a loud bang deafened him. Just as he turned to look behind, something hot punched his chin—the hit heavy enough to push him into the side walk. Pieces of flaming wood and shards of metal and glass blew past. He had no idea what was happening, but he distinctly heard his master, heard Jared screaming for his mother as night fell, black and thick as tar.

* * * 

He blinked, grimacing as some sticky substance pulled at his eyelids, his mouth tacky with whatever it was...tasted of pennies….

He parted his lips. Not pennies, blood. 

Silence...a heavy, stifling, quiet. 

A slice of the sky overhead. Blink. 

Warmth ran down his cheeks...he felt odd. Disconnected to his body. Nothing hurt, maybe there was nothing left of him to feel. 

The silence burst, became a high-pitched ringing in his ears, the ringing slowly became alarms keening, whistles shrilling. He heard police sirens then, heard men shouting. 

Feeling came back to him in a painful rush—he was on fire, the pain made him cry out. The world jostled and jumped, his narrow slice of sky winked in and out, his skin burned, his bones felt like they were splintering—his head felt like one of Jared's footballs in use. The pain grew and grew, and then, the sky settled again. He was on his back—and gods, he was _hurting._

It took a few minutes for him to work out what had happened. He'd been dragged off the sidewalk, out of people's way. 

Something—someone—touched his chin, and the flare of pain it caused made him gasp. He could feel the hot, sticky flow of blood, and tried to jerk away from the grip.

"Stay still, thrall," a rough voice ordered. 

Jensen was scared, in pain and in no way capable of keeping any kind of form or control at all. He tried to get to his feet without pushing the freeman away. "No, I, my master. I must help, I have to find—Master," he screamed, tears washing tracks through the blood and ash smeared into his skin.

"Thrall—boy—" The voice softened. "Please, son, just lie still. Don't make them call the Knick-Knack."

Jensen froze in horror. He stared at the man looming over him, finally seeing him. A freeman, of course, but he had a somewhat kind look, almost sympathetic, Jen thought. "What...where is Jared? I mean, my master, Jared. Is he hurt? Please, I have to help him." He sat up; a wave of nauseating pain folded him over. The man tentatively patted Jensen's arm.

"The tall boy with long hair? He's fine, fine. The police have taken him to safety." The man turned his head, and mumbled something that Jensen heard despite the man trying to hide it. "Took him, and left you lying on the sidewalk like trash."

_"Sir."_

A strong voice cut through the noise. A woman thrust herself into Jensen's sight line. "Sir, if I may be allowed—" She held up a blue med kit. "I'm service, and a licensed physic to thralls." She held her wrist out as well, there was a small blue cross tattooed there. "I'll take a look at him, if it's allowed?"

"Blessed Eir, yes," the man sighed. "Please do." He reached past the physic, and patted Jensen's arm rather gently, considering. "You'll be okay, son."

Jensen shuddered. "Please, Master, please...I'm afraid," he whispered, and more tears broke loose.

The man looked conflicted at first, and then, all fight left his expression. "All right then, young one. I'm right here," he murmured, and took Jensen's hand. "Do you like music? Did you know that—" 

He spoke, and kept on talking while the physic worked on Jensen. There in an alley way, she cleaned his wounds: pulled a sliver of metal from his side, cleaned and spread ointment on various scrapes, cuts, and burns, finished off with a few stitches in his side and his chin. 

"You're fortunate, thrall. You are mostly unharmed. If you're very careful, and tend to the damage, your value will not be harmed."

While the physic spoke, a cart pulled up. Sitting in the rear were Hugo and a couple of the hotel's roomgirls, holding an armful of blankets. 

"There you go, young man," the freeman said. "You were very brave," he said. "I pray the Four look over you." He hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed Jensen's forehead. "I'd be very proud if my own sons where half as brave as you." 

He called the physic over, and Jensen heard him talking to her, heard him pay the physic. Jensen tried to tell him that Mistress had come for him, that she'd most like pay for his care, but if not, Jensen had some money of his own; the freeman just waved Hugo over, and then he was gone.

'Houseboy, with the help of the two roomgirls loaded Jensen into the back of the cart, and took him away. Jensen glanced back. There was blood everywhere on the sidewalk, the doors of the theater were blown to bits—the cart turned the corner, and he sank into darkness again.

* * * 

Jensen spent the rest of that day and into the next evening alone in his hotel room. No one came to look at him that whole day; when night fell, a roomgirl finally entered. He quietly set a plate of food down on the lamptable next to Jensen's bed, and asked if he needed help eating.

Wincing, Jensen sat upright, swallowing a groan. "No...no, I'm pretty sore, but I can handle a spoon and some soup."

"If you say so, Jensen. But I don't mind helping, really I don't," the roomgirl said, and turned a brilliant red. "Oh, I was also supposed to tell you, Mister Hugo said he will likely come by at the end of his workday to visit you. I'm...I'm sorry you got hurt," the little boy blurted out. Blushing again, he sketched a wobbly little curtsy and fled the room.

Jensen stared after. What a peculiar child, he thought, he must be barely out of toddlerhood. Reminded him a bit of a very young Jared—Jensen gasped. Jared! Here he lay, for days, and selfishly hadn't given one second of thought to his master, or his mistress...and where was Miss Amanda? As property of the Padalecki estate, she should have come to check on his condition. Jen struggled to remember the evening before, but all he got was noise, and light, and the impression that someone had been kind in a rough sort of way….

He was rocked by an abrupt flash of memory—Jared screaming for his mother. 

What the hells had happened? 

Suddenly there was a commotion in the hall outside, and seconds later his door flew open, and several men in uniform filled his room. One grabbed him by the arm—the sharp tug opened a stitch in his side and the unexpected flare of pain made him yelp before he could stifle the sound. 

The grip shifted, a hand pulled his shirt high, exposing the purple and yellow bruises splashed all over him, along with dots and streaks of red left by glass and small bits of burning metal—it revealed too, the rash-like wounds he'd gotten being dragged across the sidewalk and dumped against the side of a building, out of the way. The policeman made a disgusted face and shoved Jensen back towards his bed. Thankfully Jen managed not to end up on the ground. 

The policeman scrubbed his hand against his thigh like he'd touched something slimy. Growled, "What did you see at the theater, thrall?"

"I-I- last night? We saw, um, _Our Town—"_

The policeman smacked him, not hard enough to bowl him over, but it took a second for his eyesight to settle. "I don't mean that, yer fucking idiot. What did you see outside the place?"

"Nothing, I didn't see anything, sir, mas...ma...sir…?"

"Sir is fine." The other policemen laughed at Jensen. The one eyeing him said, "You're from the countryside, aren't you? A rich one's pet, eh? You don't have no idea how to act."

Jensen nodded, "Yes...sir. But I'm a houseboy trainee, sir. And school companion for my master."

The other policemen seemed to lose interest then, they wandered around Jen's tiny room, emptying the lamptable drawers, dumping the items out of his pullman and raking through them. 

"Do you know what a dirigible captain is, thrall?" the one who'd slapped him asked, eyes focused on Jensen's, like a harrier on a mouse.

"Yes, sir, it's the man that flies an airship, sir." Jensen met the policeman's eyes, he nibbled at his lip, and said,"The captain is the head pilot of the dirigible, and he directs—"

"Yes, fine, fine. All right. Anything, boys?"

One of the men held up the last of the money Jim had given Jensen when they left the estate.

Another one held up a scarf. "Like this. Nice, the wool."

"Yer an idiot," the policeman Jen assumed was in charge said. He turned back to Jensen. "Someone will come to get you, I guess. You stay in here until they do. You hear and understand?"

"I do," Jen whispered, the words almost catching in his throat. When was someone coming? He couldn't even ask. All he could do was watch them leave, one of them wearing his scarf, the other counting his money….

* * * 

Hugo came the early the next morning, before the sun rose.

When Jensen saw who it was, he immediately sat up and pushed his covers back, made quick work of wiping his face—Eir forbid Hugo see Jensen crying like a toddler in bed. 

Jen's attempt at calm was a waste of time; Hugo's smile was too full of sympathy, the bowl he held out to Jensen shook slightly in his hands. It was oatmeal, and Jen could tell it was made with milk, and it was topped with slices of some creamy fruit.

Jen shook his head, trying to hide a fresh onslaught of tears. "I...I have no money for food, masterHouseboy. The policemen took it all. And I don't know how long Mistress paid for our rooms and neither Miss Amanda or Mistress have returned yet to tell me what to do." He'd woken with the horrible thought that maybe she'd taken her maid and her son and returned to her estate, writing Jensen off as too damaged to be of value anymore. 

"Oh...no one has…? Oh, my little dear," Hugo said, his face going an ashen bronze. He set the bowl down. "You eat. You will pay nothing; you will not worry about it."

He took the chair next to the bed, and eyed Jen's suitcase, not completely repacked since the policemen had rifled through it. The drawers of the lamptable still hung open, empty of what he'd put in them.

"Jensen, your estate 'Houseboy and his assistant are on their way to retrieve you. When they arrive does not matter in terms of your comfort. You won't be on the street, and certainly not go hungry until then. The Hotel has had a pass-around for you."

"What? Why?" Jensen was startled by the very idea, somewhat uncomfortable...actually, very uncomfortable with the idea that the hotel thralls had done that. Why would a group of strangers do such a thing for him, and how was he going to pay them back? Would Mistress be angry if they came to her for reimbursement?

Hugo reached across the narrow space between them and patted Jen's hand. "Jensen. You just have no idea, do you? People...they like you. You pull them in just by being...you." Hugo smiled at Jen, but dropped his eyes after a moment. "I have bad news for you, sweetheart. Mistress Padalecki and her masterHouseMaid are. Well, no way to sugarcoat it. They're dead. Killed in the bomb blast that injured you as well. Skadi only knows why, but your mistress, the 'HouseMaid, and the cab driver were the only casualties of the attack. We don't know why it happened, but the police do not believe it was an accident." Hugo shrugged, obviously unimpressed with the conclusion police had come to. "Those cabs—they're notoriously ill-maintained. It happens. But. She was wealthy, influential, and young. People are always going to manufacture conspiracies in those circumstances."

Jensen barely heard anything Hugo said after _"Killed in the bomb blast."_

Mistress was...dead? Amanda? It couldn't be possible. Hugo must be wrong—

"Where's Jared? Does he know? Oh, on Skadi—how he must be panicked—please take me to him, masterHouseboy! He needs me—I need him!"

Hugo looked even sadder if possible. "Jensen, Jared is at his home estate. They took him away immediately. He was returned by aeroplane. Mistress Padalecki and her 'HouseMaid are also making their final journey homeward. By Philadelphia's flagship dirigible, _Njord's Sail._ It's a great honor…" 

Hugo trailed off at the look of sheer misery on Jensen's face. He couldn't help it, but Hugo seemed to understand that Jen meant no disrespect. It was just, Mistress was gone, and that meant Jared would be on his own for three days...who was taking care of him? Probably masterCook...she was the only other person Jensen would trust with Jared's welfare, especially if Jim was on his way…. 

"Please do not worry too much, Jensen. Your masterHouseboy, and...and...your MasterTech? Are on their way, they should be arriving sometime this evening."

Jensen nearly fainted in relief. Jim and MasterTech Michael were coming? He almost fell into tears again at the enormous relief he felt. If Jim was coming, all would soon be settled. Or as settled as anything could ever be again.

* * * 

'Houseboy and MasterTech arrived the next morning. Jensen was not surprised by their reactions—masterHouseboy was supportive, in his own gruff way, and MasterTech practically swamped Jensen in an emotional tsunami, flailing helplessly in his desire to make Jensen feel better, while also not adding to Jen's stress by treating him too much like a freeman in front of strangers.

Jensen took his leave of Hugo, and shortly after they departed the city. The train Jensen rodein this time was small, grimy, and crowded, but took them directly to the areostrip—the arrangements for their return journey were made so quickly, Jensen wondered how it was possible. Jim hinted that for a well-connected person, like Mistress Padalecki was—had been—life was very different, nothing at all like the average freeman's. Her name was enough to facilitate the speed with which they were able to leave the capital and make their way back home. 

On this homeward flight, Jen was on the second deck, with the luggage and the thrall cabins. At least, he and Jim had cabins facing each other. Being from the Padalecki estate still gave them some small privileges, like having a choice of what cabin they wanted, since the tier was deserted but for them. 

Jensen set his pullman down, and looked at his quarters. The cabin was tiny, box-like, and of course, lacking a door. His cot might as well have been a couple of boards laid over trestles, topped with a few sheets of gauze pretending to be a blanket, for as comfortable as it was. It was stuffy and dark, but he didn't care that there were no observation ports; he didn't feel like looking at the skies. 

He ate his dinner alone, a bland, bean-heavy soup of the type most smallhold thralls ate—he hadn't eaten a soup like it since he was a toddler, before Master Patrick, and before his family was sold apart. 

Jensen was damn grateful when they landed. The return trip seemed faster than their departing trip, but had been cold, and terribly dull, caged on the thrall level and not able to seek out MasterTech. His mind was full of bleak and sad scenarios—so much worry about his master, and for the estate. When they landed safely home again, Jim herded him quickly off the airship and to the luggage and thrall off-load area. There they stood, silently waiting for Michael to come for them. Jensen watched a string of youngsters trot past, too young to be collared to their leash, so they were belted to it instead. They bumped and stumbled into each other, sniffling, but the Seller leading them was patient, and only prodded them gently in the direction he wished them to go. Lucky youngsters to have such a patient Seller; it was probably their first sale, Jensen thought. He hoped every one of them was lucky enough to be sold to an estate that would value them. 

As the youngsters were prodded onto a wagon, MasterTech came walking swiftly towards the off-load. He looked very apologetic when he retrieved Jensen and Jim from the thrall waiting area. 

"FourGods, I'm so sorry, Jensen, Jim—I had no idea. I haven't traveled much, and when I do it's alone...the captain explained where you were when I went for our bags and didn't see you...and here you are in this, this...Eir, Freyr and Skadi, this forsaken land," he whispered, and shook his head. 

For their part, neither Jim nor Jensen were too upset. Jensen didn't really understand Michael's reaction; it was just life. Jensen figured he hadn't the right to be upset considering—the trip hadn't been so bad, and neither had the off-load. Without Jared being there, he didn't much care about the frills and such anyway. He was just desperate to see his master again.

Finally back at the estate, Jim and Mark had questioned him much more thoroughly than the policemen had. They seemed to want to assure themselves that Jen had seen nothing. When they finally decided that such was the case, they sent Jensen to the bathing hall, and then to bed in a different spot, far from his usual nook—and Jared's room. Jim walked with him, a pensive look clouding his face. Right before unlocking the door to Jensen's temporary room, he said, "Lucky, I'm truly sorry that you had to go through this. The Cloister Hotel's masterHouseboy explained everything. You did well. The policemen...did...are you in good shape?"

"Yes, masterHouseboy. I truly am fine. The Cloister's thralls were all so caring, and...I'm fine." He dropped his head, and whispered harshly, "They did not touch me, in any way."

Jim nodded, looking very relieved. He drew a hand through his patchy beard and sighed deeply. "You must step up now, Jensen, and be the right hand Jared will need you to be. It's all come earlier, much, much too early, but Jared has been training for this, and you have been training for this, and with the help of all the estate, things should go well." 

Jim's worried belied the confidence of his words, but Jensen nodded. Really, the estate would back Jared up completely. The thralls all thought of him fondly, or had appreciated Mistress Padalecki and would certainly support his young master in her honor. There was no doubt in his mind that all would be well.

* * * 

In the morning, Jensen finally saw Jared strolling alone along the kitchen garden path. He was dressed rather haphazardly in one of his older wool coats, no hat, but sporting a long scarf trailing in the brisk breeze. As he walked, he tossed candied nuts into the air, catching them in his mouth—most of them, anyway.

"Jared," Jensen shouted, and then totally broke form by running to him, forgetting everything in his excitement at being reunited with his master. He was shocked, and _hurt,_ when Jared pushed him violently to the ground. 

"You! You left me alone," Jared shouted. "Where did you hide, I looked all over for you!" 

Jensen stayed where he'd been knocked to the ground, heart and body crying out in pain. He raised his head to Jared, but kept his eyes properly lowered, hoping to appease his master and erase the embarrassment of his outburst. "I'm sorry, Master, I swear I am!" He took a shaky breath and croaked, "Should I go to the posts?"

Jared jerked back, his eyes going wide with horror. "No!" he cried out. Dropping to his knees, he reached out to Jensen. "Oh, Jen, I'm such an—I was so scared. Mother is dead, and—and – I thought, you were dead, and I was all alone! I was so afraid that you died, no one would tell me anything and then they stuffed me in an aeroplane by myself and sent me home and _I thought you were dead!"_

He dropped his head onto Jensen's chest and cried, sobs shaking him. He held onto Jen with a grip of iron, accidentally digging his fingers into the worst of Jensen's bruises. "All I could think was with Mother gone, and you gone, why bother? I – I wouldn't want to live without _you."_

Jensen ignored the pain that Jared's frantic grip caused, he managed to keep his voice level and low, kissing Jared over and over again as he assured him that, "Never, Jared, I'd never leave you of my own will."

Jared sat back, scrubbing his jacket sleeve over his face—his cheeks red with moisture and the chill breeze. "I know that. In my head, I know that," he said, and laid a hand on his chest. "But my heart kept telling me otherwise…oh gods, just _come on."_ He jumped up, and pulled Jensen to his feet, dragging him off the path, towards the house—and, no doubt, Jensen thought, his room. He staggered after Jared, barely able to keep to his feet with how fast Jared ran—surprised at how strong Jared's grasp was. Jared...well, he'd grown, somehow without Jensen being really aware of it, he'd changed. Jen kept thinking of Jared as his little charge, but...fourteen. Jared was fourteen, and somehow he'd gotten nearly eye-to-eye with Jensen. He was certainly as strong. His shoulders were a bit broader, now that Jen really looked at him, and his jaw was sharper, no baby-fat to soften the edges now. His hair was thicker and darker, none of the curled, thin wisps of todddlerhood left. 

Jared was looking at adulthood now, childhood dead and gone…

* * * 

Alone in Jared's room, Jensen immediately dropped his jacket, then unbuttoned Jared's and drew it off, along with the ridiculous, too-long scarf. He giggled as he unwound (and unwound) it, but Jared's eyes on him were hot, not a trace of laughter in them. Jared wasted no time on words; the moment Jensen finally had the last of it off his neck, he planted a broad hand in Jensen's chest and pushed him down onto the bed. Before Jensen could breathe, Jared was climbing up over him, pushing him deeper into the comforter. Jen was speechless with shock, staring up at his master, whose actions seemed so alien, so unlike Jared. His expression, though, was every bit his little Jared—hazel eyes wide and shining with tears, lips trembling as he pressed his forehead to Jen's. Jensen's eyes closed with relief. His Jared was still there. Jensen closed his eyes and inhaled, the scent of burned sage and cedar tickled his nose. Jared must be sitting for his mother, of course he was...Jensen wondered who was with him, and decided it was probably Michael, soft-hearted old thing that he was.

Jared's face was pressed into that space between Jensen's neck and shoulder now; he babbled, "Jen, I was so lonely, so scared. Jen, I was so cold. I've been cold since they told me. Mother….Eir and Freyr, Jensen...my mother's _gone,_ forever!" 

He fell on Jensen, his hands like claws scrabbling for a grip on Jensen's bruised shoulders. He crushed their mouths together, sucking and biting at Jen's lips—crying quietly all the while. Jensen felt hot shivers run all through him, disgusted with himself that Jared's grief aroused him, horrified that he wanted Jared to want him more than anything else. He wanted to get closer to Jared, wanted to crawl inside him and not think, not feel anything else but Jared ever again. 

His hips rose with the thought; he groaned when Jared shifted, making it obvious he was as hard as Jensen was. Jared shoved himself against Jen, pulled back, then shoved forward again. Jensen spread his legs wider so that Jared could slot more comfortably between them, get closer, because it felt so good—they squirmed and rutted against each other, their trousers doing nothing to muffle the sensation of their cocks dragging against each other. Their frantic movement rucked Jared's shirt high, baring skin. The second he realized it, he pawed at Jen's shirt, ripping it out of the way so that their bare bellies slid against each other.

Jensen gasped at the touch of warm, damp, skin—gripped Jared's thin hips to pull him even tighter against him. He squeezed his eyes tight, torn between desire and pain as Jared squirmed all over him, rubbing against smooth skin and damaged without noticing. 

Jensen was deep inside himself, his mind intent on searching out his pleasure, when something warm and wet hit his cheek. Alarmed, his eyes flew open to Jared staring at him, tears now running freely down his face and dripping off his chin. Jared's eyes were almost a true blue now, swimming with tears as they were. Jensen reached out to wipe the tears away, and ran his thumb over the sweet little mole near Jared's nose, cupped his wet cheek. "Master…."

"Gods, Jensen, just, gods, _shut up,_...please." He reared upwards, scrubbing the wet roughly from his face. He made a business about shoving his hair off his face, stealing time to compose himself. His eyes moved restlessly over Jensen, around the room...coming to rest on the door. He slid off the bed, muttering, "I'm, uh, going to lock the door. And then, you, we'll get, we'll uh, get out of our clothes, all right?"

Jensen nodded and sat up, beginning to undress himself. He watched Jared hurry to the door; his cheeks, his nose, the tips of his ears, all were a bright red. He turned back to Jensen, who'd just stripped down to his underclothes. Plucking at the hem of his own shirt, he pointed at Jensen and said, "Your clothes, Jen. All of them. Off." Jared's voice shook, but Jensen could hear a hint of command in his tone. 

He stared as Jensen took his underclothes off, undressing as well, letting his clothes drop in heaps to the floor in contrast to Jensen, who folded every item of clothing and carefully put them on the floor, then sliding them slightly under the bed and out of the way. 

Jared walked quickly back to the bed. Jen could tell Jared was struggling not to cover himself, trying to look in command of the situation. His master's uneasiness made Jen nervous—what was going on in Jared's head? Was he...Jensen had only as much experience as Jared had. He'd had some training, a bit—a few books and a talk he'd been given by the physic—under Mistress Padalecki's orders. She'd said at the time, he needed to know enough to keep them from injuring each other. And really, it had never gone farther than them using their hands on each, what the psychic had called _frottage,_. which he liked very much, and rarely, fellatio—though after the incident with Clyde and the other boys and their thralls, Jared had increasingly chosen that over mutual masturbation….

The bed bounced, and he was back in the here and now, Jared laying full length on him, his expression strangely blank. Jensen swallowed a gasp of pain and surprise, and got a whiff of burned sage and cedar again, solid proof of Jared's grief. He managed a smile for Jared, hoped that Jared could see just how much he wanted to help.

Jared shuddered and closed his eyes, went back to his earlier rocking motion, this time more immediate, more intense, with nothing between their bodies. Jensen felt Jared's cock twitch and roll against his belly. There was less drag now; he could feel the slick building up between them. The crown of Jared's cock caught on his, the sensation such a pleasant one it forced a loud moan out of him.

Jared hissed, shook his head impatiently. He grabbed Jensen by his shoulder, and flipped him so he lay on his belly. Pulled Jen's legs apart, and then...stopped for a long, long minute…Jensen was just about to ask him what was wrong, when he felt Jared's hands prying him open. His finger jabbed and poked uncertainly at his hole, a bit of roughness catching on the sensitive rim in a way that wasn't entirely bad, but— 

"Jared—wait a moment—"

"No, no, it's okay, don't worry, it's fine, okay, don't be a baby—"

Jensen knew Jared was working himself up to taking what he wanted, but this was new, something they hadn't done together and Jensen had to figure out how to take control without seeming to. He heard Jared curse, and the bed rocked with him shifting his weight. Taking advantage, Jensen wiggled away from Jared's probing finger and hastily whispered, "Please, Master, there's oil in your bed table!"

Jared froze, his hand on Jensen's ass tightened painfully...but Jensen heard the night table drawer opening, and some rummaging about, thank Freyr. Jared was back; a click and a pop, and then there was the sudden sensation of cold dribbling over Jensen's clenched pucker. 

"Relax, open for me," Jared muttered, and Jensen did his best to relax his muscles as Jared worked some of the oil into him, fingers going from poking carelessly to stroking—Jensen imagined Jared must be examining the feeling of what it was like having his fingers in Jensen, how it felt to stroke him inside, and how it felt to have Jensen tighten on him.

"So soft," Jared whispered, "so hot..." He gave an exploratory tug at Jen's rim, and Jensen shuddered. It felt good, really good. Jared pushed his long fingers inside, rubbing around the rim with his thumb. Jensen moaned when Jared pulled his fingers free—not more than a few moments later, Jared shoved his cock inside, all at once, and Jensen yelped with the shock of it. 

Jared froze, then began moving, punching his hips faster, faster, while Jensen gnawed his lip and did his best to loosen his muscles. He could hear Jared babbling, so low it was obvious he was talking only to himself. 

"Take it, take my prick, oh fuck, you're good at this, feel so damn good, gods, so hot inside, so tight—"

After the initial shock and burn, Jen's body eased, he began to soften, spread for his master. His erection had faded when Jared pushed in, but he was more than halfway to hard again, and starting to enjoy the feeling, the sensation of tugging at his rim—he'd not known just how sensitive he was there, but thrill after thrill rushed through him. He could do this forever, feel Jared push him open—in, out—Jared's cock hot as he claimed Jensen was inside. 

Jensen was just beginning the climb to his long fall into orgasm when Jared froze; he shouted, his hips jerking roughly as he emptied his cock inside Jensen. 

Jensen squeezed his eyes tight, pushed the heel of his hand into his mouth and bit down on a frustrated sob as Jared pulled free of him and rolled over to spread-eagle on the bed. 

"Jen, that was fantastic! _Best_ thing I ever felt—wasn't it the best—Jensen?"

Jensen rolled over as well, adjusting the sheet to cover himself as best he could. "I'm so happy, Jared. I'm so pleased I could help you."

Jared smiled, and kissed Jensen. "You did help." He looked at Jensen, smiling into his eyes, letting his gaze wander down Jensen's body—he frowned. "You didn't come?"

"Oh, I...I...I'm fine."

"No, let me, your poor prick. I guess…" Jared blushed. "You didn't have enough time to—?"

"Oh! no, it's just...my instructor said, I mean, I was taught that, well. We, um. Need a little more sometimes. More, um, friction," he stuttered, and Jared barked out a loud laugh, clapped his hands over his mouth. 

"Oh, I see. Well, I guess you know more than I do about this...what with taking classes in it and all. With that Nihonese physic, what was his name? I didn't like him," Jared muttered.

"Kobe, and, and, it wasn't. Not like that. I wouldn't..." Jensen muttered, blushing hot and miserable. "He's the estate's physic, which you really should know, Jared..."

"Oh. Really?" Jared frowned. "Hunh." He shook his head, then gave Jensen a sweet, little smile. "Anyway, I know you wouldn't, Jen. I was just teasing, I know Mother didn't allow you to be used like that." He started to smile, but it faded right away. 

"Mother," he whispered, and the tears came again. Jensen gathered him in, hugging him, letting the touch of his skin give Jared comfort. They feel asleep, tucked in together and Jensen completely forgot about his own needs, tending to his master's.

* * * 

They woke again in the early evening. The sun had just begun to set, but the room was warm—his fire grate had been lit. One of the roomgirls had come in to check on them, no doubt at Jim's orders.

"Oh, perfect, warm on the outside, now to get warm on the inside!" Jared called for cocoa, and poked the fire up to make it hotter. "I've been cold ever since we came home."

He made Jensen change into a night shirt even though it was only early evening, and they got under the thick covers of his bed together. Jared's roomgirl brought the cocoa and a little plate of assorted treats, all Jared's favorites, Jensen saw. She set up bed trays, quietly and efficiently, before turning to Jared, eyes bright with unshed tears. 

"Master, please, can I do anything else for you? Is there anything at all you need?" she gestured to the tray. "We thought you might like this, but we can get other—"

"Oh no, Tam, this is just great, thank you. You can thank everyone and let them know we're down for the night." Jared smiled at her, and Jensen hid his own smile at the way Tam immediately pinked up, dropped her eyes, and gave an adorably perfect curtsy before quickly leaving the room.

"Jen, oh, Jen!" Jared grabbed Jensen's hand before he could reach for the coin-sized mince pie he had his eye on. "I was in an aeroplane! An aeroplane..." His eyes welled. "I didn't enjoy it when it happened, you know, but now that I'm home and I think about it... _an aeroplane._

Jensen leaned back against the pillow, mince pie forgotten. "Oh my...that's right. What...what was it like?"

"So different. Like – a flying train car, but bigger! All wood and velvet, and really quite fancy. One of mother's associates…" his eyes welled again, and spilled over. "Someone she worked with, Sultan someone, sent me home in his private aeroplane out of respect for her."

He stopped and played with the edge of the comforter for a few seconds before looking up at Jensen. "I don't think I knew my mother at all."

Jen poured Jared cocoa, loaded it with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, and made him drink it all, and prodded him to eat as well. At first Jared complained bitterly that he wasn't hungry, but as Jensen suspected, it was just a matter of reawakening his appetite and he finished off the tray. Jensen got him interested in a book Mistress had gifted him before their trip, The Sword in the Stone, and went off to the kitchen to get another tray of food from the night staff.

* * * 

The next few days went by quietly. They didn't do that thing again, and Jensen really didn't mind that much. Jared had kept Jensen in his bed though, and that was something Jen did like very much. Sleeping tangled up together, breathing each others' air...Jensen felt warm and safe, comforted, and he believed that Jared felt the same way—was sure of it, the way Jared kissed him softly each morning they woke together.

* * *

"Jim said that Mother's funeral arrangements were almost complete. They're just waiting now for attendees from overseas," Jared sighed, his voice a little thin and shaky.

They were coming back from a walk—something they'd started doing since Mistress passed—taking the long way back from the orchard. Jensen took his hand, and murmured what he hoped were encouraging words. He'd spoken to Jim as well, earlier in the week, wanting to know how Miss Amanda's remains would be disposed of. Jim assured him that she would be cremated and buried on the estate. It had given Jensen a great sense of comfort to know that. 

He'd worried—just a bit—that her service might be ignored, that her body might just be given to the Knick-Knack man. He was deeply relieved to know that her journey ended here, with people who knew who she was, what she did. _Padalecki Amanda, masterHouseMaid of the Padalecki Estate, favored companion to its mistress, in service and beyond._ Jensen nodded to himself. 

A private marker, and an epitaph. There was no greater honor than that.

They were just cresting the little hill that let them see the front of the house and the driveway, when Jared interrupted himself mid-description of the candies he'd been offered on the Sultan's aeroplane. "Say hello, Jensen—what the hells is that?" 

There was a large, old-fashioned horse-drawn sedan pulled up in the driveway, an electric rent-cart behind it. Jared, of course, ran off to see what was going on, Jensen running full-out after him to keep up. 

When they drew close to the house, Jensen saw Jim on the porch, looking like he was chewing on lemons, but trying to keep form. It looked odd to Jensen—in all the time on the estate, he'd never seen Jim standing like a thrall before. Mark was standing behind him, his form picture perfect in contrast to Jim's. Mark's was face was smooth and blank and proper as all hells, but there was thunder in his eyes. 

"Jared," Jim said, and pointed to a thickly-built man standing in front of several liveried footmen. The man turned to face them, his eyes lingering on Jensen as if he knew him. "Jared, your father has come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a graphic depiction of underage sex in this chapter--Jared is fourteen, Jensen is eighteen. There's obviously issues of consent since Jensen is owned by Jared and his family. Going forward, we start to see how Jensen was broken. If there is penetrative sex, Jensen will be the bottom. He's never asked if this is his preference. 
> 
> Tags will most likely continue to be added as we go along. Feel free to email me if you have concerns or questions or spot mistakes!


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